The Baller (20 page)

After
The Price Is Right
ended, I stopped in the ladies’ room in the hallway and cleaned up, knowing I’d have to head straight to work or risk being late. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and brushed on a little mascara and lip gloss. When I returned to Grams’ room to say goodbye, a man was sitting in the chair next to her. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why at first. “Hello.”

The man stood and nodded. “I was just doing my daily visit with Marlene. I didn’t realize she had company.”

My jacket was draped over another chair, so I lifted it and began to pull it on. “Stay. Please. I was just about to leave. I have to get to work anyway.” I smiled. “I’m Willow. Marlene’s granddaughter.”

“I didn’t realize Marlene had a granddaughter. It’s nice to meet you, Willow. I’m Grouper. Your grandmother likes to whip me at checkers a few times a week.”

“Ah. Yes, game shark. She looks innocent, but she’s a closet swindler.”

Grouper looked to Marlene and shook his head. “You sound just like Brody.”

“You know Brody?”

“Of course. Comes here every week like clockwork. Good man. Just don’t ever let him know I said that.” He winked.

“Does he ever bring his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? Oh, you mean the reporter. No. He comes alone. Tuesdays. Usually about ten.”

I walked over to Grams and gave her a hug. Her shoulders were so much thinner than I remembered. My larger-than-life grandmother felt tiny, almost fragile. “I have to get going to work, or I’ll be late.”

“Okay, dear. Will you come back with Brody?”

“You know what? I will. I’ll be back on Tuesday. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Grouper.”

“Nope, no mister. Just Grouper. Like the fish.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you, Grouper. And thank you for visiting with Grams.”

“My pleasure. Let’s hope the Steel win this Sunday, so we get a happy Brody here on Tuesday.”

I smiled, refraining from saying what I was thinking.
I wouldn’t count on Brody being happy on Tuesday, even if he wins.

***

Monday was my only day off. Restaurant hours were hard on keeping up with any TV programs, so I had stopped bothering recording most things a long time ago. On the rare occasion that I remembered to set up something to record, it was even rarer that I actually watched whatever it was that I’d recorded. Except today. I sat on the edge of the couch during the last two minutes of the Steel versus Eagles game as Brody and the offensive line moved down the field. They were down by six and sitting on the thirty-yard line on fourth down.

Mindlessly, I tapped my foot on the floor as Brody drew back, and the ball went sailing in the air.
Come on, Brody. Come on.
I held my breath until the spiraling ball fell into the wide receiver’s hands. Being on edge, anxious for the win as Brody stood on the field, reminded me of sitting on the old metal bleachers in high school, so many years ago. My best friend, Anna, used to steady my leg.
Quit playing the snare drum with your foot, you’re shaking the whole bleacher.
God, those days really were a lifetime ago.

After the game, I decided to make cupcakes. I used to love to bake, although it had been a really long time since I’d had anyone to bake for. My apartment was small, with a galley kitchen that was tinier than most closets and a crappy stove, so baking wasn’t something I’d thought to do since I moved in. But today I made Gram and Brody’s favorite. The same red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting that I used to bake after Brody won a game back in high school.

On my way to my afternoon appointment with Dr. Kaplan, I knocked on my neighbor’s door across the hall, two cupcakes in hand. Waiting as I listened for the triple set of locks to clank open, I looked around the dim third floor of my building. This place was really seedy, and that was saying something coming from the places I’d spent time in over the years. But New York City was expensive, and it was the only place I was able to afford at the moment.

Eventually, the door cracked open a tiny bit, the flimsy top lock chain still securely attached. I kneeled down to the little girl’s eye level. “Hi, Abby. I made cupcakes. I thought maybe you and your mom would like some.”

She nodded quickly with wide eyes. The door shut and then reopened without the chain. Abby reached for the plate.
Shit. I know that look.

“Is your mom home?” The poor little thing was starving. She didn’t even bother to lick the icing off the top or taste it before shoveling half the cupcake into her mouth with one bite.

Abby nodded her head while chewing. She was probably five or six, but she was tiny for even that. I’d gotten to know her and her mom over the last few months. Her mother was in recovery, like me. But I had a bad feeling that something might have changed over the weekend. The two guys I’d seen coming out of their place definitely screamed that the wagon had tipped, and Mom had fallen off.

I didn’t want to scare Abby by prying too hard. “How about Mom? Can I give her the other cupcake?”

“She’s sleeping.”

It was four in the afternoon. “Is anyone else home?”

Abby shook her head.

“Can I come inside for a second, Abby?”

She nodded.

Who else would this sweet little thing let in?

I walked through their apartment and found Lena sprawled across her bed. I checked that she was breathing. A few beer cans were littered around the sparse room, but there were no signs of drug paraphernalia, at least.

“Lena?”

She groaned in response and rolled over.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, Abby was already halfway through cupcake number two. Curiosity had me opening the refrigerator.
Damn.
It was emptier than mine.
Way emptier.
An expired carton of milk, some ketchup, a jar of pickles—with only the juice left—and a Tupperware with something moldy inside. The kitchen cabinets didn’t fare much better.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Lock the door . . . wait for me to knock.”

Abby spoke with her mouth full. “Okay.”

My apartment wasn’t exactly stocked with a gourmet feast, but I could make sure Abby had a full belly. I made a quick peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich and grabbed the half-empty carton of milk from my refrigerator before going back.

“Have you ever tried peanut butter?” The last thing she or her mother needed was for me to load Abby full of something that she was allergic to.

“I used to bring it to school for lunch sometimes. But I have to sit at a different table from Danny Mendez. He’s allergic.”

That made me feel better. I poured a glass of milk and watched her eat before leaving.

But the time I arrived at Dr. Kaplan’s office, it was five after four. She looked at her watch. “You’re late today.”

I plopped down in my usual spot. “Sorry. I had to take care of something.”

She took a notebook, stood from behind her desk, and moved to her usual chair across from me. Flipping to a new page, she wrote the date down before setting the notebook on her lap and giving me her full attention.

“So, what did you have to take care of?”

“I’m not using again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t say that you were.”

“No. But I felt it in your tone.”

“It was just a simple question, Willow. Let’s not get started on the wrong foot today.”

Maybe I had jumped to a conclusion she wasn’t hinting at. “I had to make my neighbor a sandwich.”

“Oh? Is she sick?”

“No. She’s five years old. Her mother was sleeping, and I stopped over with cupcakes and realized she was starving.”

“Her mother was sleeping in the middle of the day?”

“Yeah. I thought the same thing. I’m hoping for Abby’s sake I’m wrong. Her mother has been clean for four months.”

Dr. Kaplan nodded and wrote something in her book.

“What could you possibly have written down? That I made a kid a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich?”

“Actually, I noted you befriended a little girl who has a similar home life to yours growing up.”

“Oh.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way.

“So . . . how was your week? Did you visit Marlene?”

“I did.”

“And how is that going?”

“Good. Her disease sort of lets me pick up life with her at various spots. She doesn’t seem to realize how long I was gone or remember all of the terrible things I’ve done to her.”

More nodding. “And work?”

“It’s good. My feet are killing me. But the money is good. I’m hoping to save up enough to move to a better neighborhood eventually. I’d like to be closer to my grandmother. It takes more than forty-five minutes on a good day to get to her from uptown.”

“Have you been out socially?”

“No. But that cute guy in the suit asked me out the other day.”

“At the restaurant. The one who asked you out a few weeks ago?”

“He came in with some friends again.”

“And did you agree to go out with him?”

“No.”

“Why not? You said yourself that you thought he was handsome and seemed like a nice guy.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“Because of Brody?”

“How am I supposed to start dating when I still love another man?”

“People do it all the time. You need to move on, Willow.”

“I know. I’m just not ready.”

“When will you be ready?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m seeing him tomorrow, though.”

“You are?” Dr. Kaplan sounded surprised.

“Don’t get excited. He doesn’t know yet.”

Her forehead creased.

“He visits Marlene every Tuesday. I’ve been avoiding going on that day so I wouldn’t see him.”

“But now you’re going?”

“Yes.”

“What changed?”

“I’m not sure.” That was a lie. Dr. Kaplan already knew all about my past, but I was embarrassed to admit how selfish I continued to be. Seeing Brody with his girlfriend
had
changed things. I needed to see for myself that there was no hope for us. Or I’d never be able to move on.

Brody

“Salmon.” I nodded. Grouper had set up yellow caution cones barricading the section of the floor he was mopping in the main lobby. Snatching two of them, I jogged down the hall and set them four feet apart. “No touchdown pass, then the ball goes to my favorite nurse, Shannon.” I winked at Shannon, who shook her head while smiling. “Shannon wears scrubs with little football players on them on Sundays. Did you wear those this Sunday, Shannon?”

She chuckled. “Sure did. Had my matching dangling football earrings on, too.”

“See that? I’m thinking I shouldn’t even give you the chance to win this ball, old man. You got football earrings?”

“Just throw the ball already, damn it.” Grouper dropped the mop and jogged toward the cones.

For half a second, I considered pitching the ball over his head so he’d miss, then I remembered he’d probably spent Sunday playing checkers with Marlene while he rooted for my obnoxious ass. So I lobbed the ball for an easy catch instead.

“I still got it.” He fist-pumped as he walked back.

“Yeah, you got it, all right. Hemorrhoids, arthritis . . . ”

“Don’t remind me. Got those, too. Your day will come. And I can’t wait to see that pretty-boy face get some good age spots on it.”

I chuckled. “Marlene in her room or the day room?”

“I think she’s in her suite. Pretty little granddaughter of hers is keeping her company again this morning. I’m not going to have to referee anything in there, am I?”

Between the win on Sunday that moved us into first place and spending Monday night inside of Delilah celebrating, I’d thought nothing could ruin my mood. Fuck if I hadn’t been wrong.

I contemplated turning around and leaving. But it was Tuesday, the day I’d been spending here for years. Years when
she
hadn’t even give a shit whether her grandmother was alive. I was done letting her interfere with my life anymore.

At least this time, I was prepared to see her. Or at least I
thought
I was.

Willow turned around when the door opened, and my heart stopped beating. I hated her so much.

I hated her.

So damn much.

Yet when my heart started beating again, I couldn’t stop it from racing.

“Hi.” She smiled hesitantly, and those big eyes looked up from under long lashes.

I hate you.

I also hated that she was still as beautiful as ever.

I lifted my chin in her direction as my only response and walked over to Marlene. “How’s my favorite lady today?” I kissed her on the forehead.